


Scarves

by quartermasterandhisagent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Pack Feels, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartermasterandhisagent/pseuds/quartermasterandhisagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t really surprise Stiles, that after everything that had happened over the past few years, he’d developed insomnia (Or the One Where Stiles learns to Knit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarves

It didn’t really surprise Stiles, that after everything that had happened over the past few years, he’d developed insomnia. His Adderall kept him level during the day, but after it wore off he was just twitchy, restless in a way that’s irritating. Things had been quiet in Beacon Hills, ever since the Nemeton’s power had been cut off, so really he didn’t have anything to worry about. There was no reason for this, and yet Stiles was tense, edgy and always on alert. He’d tried everything he can think of to try and trick his brain into just slowing down enough he can sleep.

The exhaustion was visible in his every movement. Teachers didn’t bother to ask about missing homework, not after his friends had sharply cut the new English teacher off when she had the bright idea to ask why he was bothering to show if he wasn’t willing to do the work – there was something that made her uneasy about the bunch of them when they’d pinned her down with a glare before tugging Stiles away. Finstock yelled at him during practice that week for missing a play, which surprised everyone that he had noticed at all. He was nearly in tears by the end of practice even Jackson giving him space not bothering to make a smart-ass comment, but he still couldn’t sleep.

Nothing seems to help. Reading Latin dictionaries helped his vocab, but he’d still be up until nearly four thirty before he could eventually manage to doze off for a few hours. Besides, Lydia noticed after a week and a half, and that was completely by accident. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen to them. He was just borrowing them, jeeze.

Cooking was just a safety hazard, ditto with driving. But he’d still needed something he could occupy himself with, so herbal teas, melatonin, and sleeping pills were out of the question. (Not to mention the wicked nightmares sleeping pills gave him about the nogitsune, which he couldn’t even begin to explain to his doctor.)

It was his father, who finally came up with something that helped. He came home one night to find Stiles vacuuming under the couch, something the man was sure hadn’t happened in years. Derek was with him, nose buried in a thick novel he’d seen Derek with on more than occasion, but he seemed to be more concerned with waiting for Stiles to fall over from the lack of sleep than whatever was going on in his book.

The Sherriff himself was just coming off a double shift, after an arson call turned into a triple homicide when it was discovered the victims had been prevented from escaping. He was trying to be patient with his son, really but there was no way he would get any sleep himself if Stiles was hell bent on taking on the dust bunnies and cobwebs that seemed to clutter the house.

“Your mother used to knit when she couldn’t sleep, her mother –your grandmother taught her when you were a baby,” his father swallows before adding, “She used to stay up, waiting for me to get off my shift, watching TV and knitting. Maybe you should try that.” Stiles had long since abandoned his vacuuming, and now stared at his father instead, a pinched expression the Sherriff was sure was mirrored on his own face.

With a sigh, he turned and headed for the stairs. “Goodnight, Derek. Goodnight, Son,” he says.

Faintly he heard Stiles mutter something before adding, “Yeah, thanks. Night dad.”

Stiles treated it like any other research project, researched videos, patterns, types of yarn and needles. Allison and Scott are amused at how seriously he seems to be taking it, but if it helped Stiles sleep they weren’t going to say anything about it. Lydia just rolled her eyes, but even she had to admit that they’d all been worried despite Stiles’ vigorous protests.

“Pinterest is a lying liar,” Stiles muttered one night from the corner of Derek’s couch he’d pretty much camped out on during the pack meeting. Lydia had gone home to spend time with her mother, and Scott and Allison ducked out early for date night. Erica and Boyd had dragged Isaac to the Movies, so it’s just the two of them now. “I don’t get it. I made a cozy for my dad’s coffee mug just fine last week. But this…” he trailed off with a sigh.

Derek glanced over at the tangle of yarn resting between them on the couch, and can’t help the snort that escapes him. He wasn’t entirely sure what was supposed to be, but mostly it just looked a tangle of loose loops and knots. He watches as Stiles fishes out a pair of scissors from where he’d clearly wedged them in between the pillow and the back of the couch.

“Don’t laugh, Derek. It helps me relax, so I can sleep. I need to get some goddamn sleep,” He scolded, as he dropped the now ruined yarn into a pile on the floor. He made a mental note to pick it up and throw it away before he left for the night.

Derek knew the feeling all too well. He often couldn’t sleep well either, but being a wolf gave him an advantage. He could stay awake longer with fewer problems, even longer than a teenage boy with caffeine problems. “Maybe you should try something a little less complex,” he said.

Stiles just glared at him, and Derek hadn’t even needed to use his wolf senses to know that Stiles was annoyed. He could feel the way Stiles had stiffened, the slight tension flooding his body, even from his end of the couch. He turned back to the WWI documentary that he’d been watching with the volume down low, fiddled with the remote for a few seconds before adding, “There’s a craft store, that—that my mom liked to go to. She used to make jewellery, and there were classes there. I-I used to go there with her, she liked the company. Maybe I could take you after school?” He offers this last part tentatively, almost too quiet to hear.

Stiles had completely stilled, and that worried Derek more than anything. He waited nearly a full minute before he felt Stiles deflate. “I’d like that,” he said.

The craft store Derek took him to was nearly an hour away, two towns over. It looked more like a house than anything, only the swaying wooden sign in front of it claiming to be “Sarah’s Creations & Shope” gave any indication that it wasn’t. Derek pulls into the driveway, pausing only to lock the Camaro before walking up the wide dark green porch.

An elderly lady, presumably Sarah, greeted the pair warmly, while a younger woman in her mid-thirties busied herself with re-arranging and sorting items on a shelf in the corner. She remembered Derek apparently, which oddly enough had the older man ducking his in embarrassment at something she’d said to him. Stiles only half caught a comment about how she’s “glad to find that he’s found someone who settles him” before he was introduced and dragged off to join a beginner’s knitting circle.

It became their thing. Once a week, Stiles and Derek drove out to the craft store. While Stiles learned the difference between stitches and how to switch hands after a run in with a fairy left his right hand out of commission, Derek browsed the shop, and bought whatever yarn or needles Stiles had been eyeing the week previous. He did this without mentioning it to Stiles. It takes Stiles longer than he’d ever admit to catch on.

But it helped, surprisingly enough. Most nights he can be found curled up in bed, or at the end of a couch (whether his or Derek’s it doesn’t really matter) with a movie on, knitting until he’s tired enough to drop off to sleep. He’s more relaxed now, confident enough in his skills that he doesn’t hide it whenever anyone walks into the room. The pack jokingly made requests, but nobody really thought anything of it, other than a subtle way to let Stiles know they were glad he’d found something that worked.

The entire pack gets scarves for Christmas, which they all wear for the rest of the winter. Even Derek. And no one mentions that they’re a little sloppy and loose.


End file.
